Thursday, July 31, 2008
I will miss our Princess Palace on Macdonough Street. And the whole city, too, I'm sure. And the people I allowed myself to cozy up to over the past couple years. I guess I'm just starting to realize how much is altering, and not just for me or in this particular situation. I think, throughout this whole process, I've been a bit dismissive until now. Maybe it's not as bad since I didn't realize it, or maybe it's worse. I'm not sure.
Tomorrow I am moving to a strange new place, again.
posted by anne on 7/31/2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Hi, I made you a mix.
yes, have some.
My first boyfriend, Joe, gave me the very first mix I ever received. It was in his GMC Safari, right after he--very prematurely--told me he loved me. At the time, I remember feeling embarrassed that someone would even conceive of compiling a mess of songs with solely me in mind. I eventually got over that, and then I tried to get over joe by tossing the mix after he dumped me (for the second time). After that, I handed over my only copy of his band's album to my next boyfriend, who was none the wiser about its origin.
For whatever reason, I seem to keep a firm hold on things that I'll never use or look at again, but all the artifacts I actually want to resurface are now unrecoverable.
posted by anne on 7/17/2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The first vivid dream I can remember happened when I was 4 years old. It was very soon before my dad moved out, and he had started rocking me to sleep in the living room every night (I think it was more for him than it was for me). He would always fall asleep before I did, but that was our routine and I think we both liked it that way. On one of those nights, I dreamt that I had been separated from my family. I walked for hours in a nightshirt, crying, stumbling through the woods behind our house, until eventually I came face to face with an enormous tiger. Through some hazy sequence of events, it was revealed that the tiger was actually my dad; he said that he had eaten the rest of our family, and if I wanted to see them again, I'd have to crawl onto his tongue and be swallowed, too. So I did. When I woke up I was staring into his sleeping face.
I've always had many, many more nightmares than regular dreams, and I've grown so accustomed to them over the years that I can often control the endings. If, for example, someone is chasing me with a knife, or a gun, or some other weapon (which is usually the case), there comes a point near the end (when I'm usually trapped against a wall, or I'm stuck running in place, etc.) where I can just stop, catch my breath, and realize that the way to make the situation disappear is to simply acknowledge that I'm asleep. I rarely have to fight back. The worst cases, not surprisingly, happen when I discover that I'm not the one in control after all. These always end badly.
I'd like to know about other people's dreams.
It's been this way for as long as I can recall, back to that rocking chair nightmare. Most of the time I don't realize how unsettling it is to others that I've just grown to accept my subconscious for the way it is. Really, what else can I do?
posted by anne on 7/09/2008